Golden Boy
by Aida Rosaura
Summary: Unwound Future, AU. Clive has weaved himself a mess of lies and madness—-all because of one pivotal truth he can't come to terms with. Before he destroys whatever chance he has at reconciling, will he even realise what he's doing to himself?
1. Flashback

"**One could only damage oneself through the harm one did to others. One could never get directly at oneself**_."  
― Jean-Paul Sartre_

They say hindsight is 20/20 but I disagree. I would explain, but there wouldn't be a point. This is what I have to say: no matter what you do, it will be wrong in someone's eyes. No matter how you act, you'll be worthless in the end. No one will remember you. Except perhaps your family—those are the only people foolish enough to hold on.

* * *

_"Oh, home at last!" a woman with a swaddled infant in her arms stepped over the threshold, into the small flat. "What do you think, my darling? This is home, we're finally home..."_

_A man followed her into the room, a miniature bassinet tucked under his arm and a bag slung over his shoulder._

_Clive drifted forward in awe of the sight. He hadn't been allowed to visit his parents at the hospital. For the past three days he had been holed up with his elderly grandmother, relishing in the occasional visits from his father. Finally, they had returned for him, baring some kind of... a baby, was it?_

_"Come say hello, Dear, don't be shy." His mother beckoned him forward. She had already kicked off her shoes and was now making herself comfortable on the old chesterfield. The young boy wandered over and climbed up to peer over his mother's shoulder. There below was a ruddy face, relaxed in sleep. Clive's instincts took over. He reached down to touch it._

_"Mum, why's it got such funny cheeks?" he asked, feeling the newness of the infant's skin._

_"Please Clive, don't touch him. How would you like to be prodded at like that? They're not funny, babies have to be chubby to keep healthy. And it's not an it. He's your little brother."_

_Clive didn't buy any of this. He figured the thing in the blankets looked a bit like a porcelain doll. He wondered if it would crack if it wasn't handled right. "I didn't ask for one of em little brothers," he said, reaching to touch the new baby again._

_"Clive, stop it!" his mother said, with much less patients this time. "Mummy's very tired, babies are a lot of work. You're a good boy, so behave like one. Do as I say."_

_Considering this for a moment, the boy decided to slither away from the strange sight. His father was talking with his grandmother so he milled around, searching for something interesting. There wasn't much for an eight year old. Soon, the infant started to bawl. Clive covered his ears and watched his mother rock the thing, her face puckering into a weary smile. This was when he decided a little brother would only hinder him._

A year passed in this manner.

"You're a big brother now, Clive, you have to set a good example. Must you do so many naughty things?" my mother would say. All I could hear was the contempt. Jealousy is the fastest path to loathing. That was why, ten years ago, I forgot him in the flurry of the moment. If I were to save my parents, they would have to love me. My little brother vanished from my memory. He had always taken the attention owed to me. For some reason, he garnered more attention. Even to this day he has that attention—family. More family than one person deserves.

As far as I know, they never attempted to reunite us after the accident. They knew the likelihood that I would be adopted was low. But he, being under a year, would be something of a commodity. Ms. Dove would have happily taken us both if she had known. Thankfully, that was not the case. Once again the attention was all mine.

* * *

I adjust my watch. It's cold—the metal of the back raises the hair on my left arm. 1409.

* * *

Revenge was always my goal. All of this was for revenge. Hindsight may not be 20/20, but my memories of early childhood serve me well. Things changed with the addition of the baby, but I do remember happiness as an only child.

Revenge was always my goal. But I knew of Luke. I knew I would be able to pull off playing his older counterpart. It was perfect pieces all placed together, the click and the ah-ha.

Things always seem clearer... things always seem clearer... the top down view, the big picture. All of it—all at once. It's a hard way of looking at things but you have to keep all of the facts straight somehow.

Layton is the greatest threat to the plan. But he is also a quintessential part.

Luke is the insurance.

The plan is set. Revenge was always my goal, as far back as I remember.

* * *

I've started spending nights at the facility. I don't sleep anyway, I might as well be working. Dimirtri never leaves but we keep out of each other's way. The woman sometimes comes by, asking if I need anything. I sent her out once for coffee, but when she returned she told me everything was closed. It was one in the morning, neither of us had noticed.

I inquired about her only once, when she first made an appearance. Dimitri simply said she was investigating the explosion.

* * *

_"Clive, dear, lunch is ready!"_

_The boy had been spinning with his arms outstretched. Upon hearing this he toppled to the grass purposefully, laughing. "Okay Cogg! I'm coming!"_

_It was these kinds of Sunday afternoons that allowed Clive to live his childhood. He relished in the sun, rolling over to lay still a moment. He was twelve now. And, for the most part, flourishing. There were bad days, and there were days when the boy stepped so far out of line his foster mother didn't know what to do with him. But for the most part he was brilliant._

* * *

I don't mean anything by it, but pain will destroy you. Pain will destroy you. Weakness will destroy you.

Anything less.

Anything less and you will be left, forgotten, worthless. Worthlessness strikes me as odd in the sense that something perfect can mean nothing in the wrong hands. And something worthless can be made fortunate. Why is it like this? Charisma—I can compare it to charisma. Some people are born and everyone wants to be near then. Somebody with the same face will simply be looked over if they don't have that charisma.

One minute I'm too cold and the next I'm too hot—living underground can be sickeningly suffocating. But it's better than regular life. I have control. I was born with that charisma, but somehow I maintain that worthlessness. I am weak. I can make up for it.

There must be a correlation.

He has the charisma, the worth and the bounty. The joy, the beauty.

I've decided to leave for the research facility again. On the back of my left wrist, my watch counts the seconds.

2304

The walk is sticky. The sky, as ever, hangs low and keeps everything in. There are a series of ventilation shafts both behind the lab and closer to the clock shop, but they don't run at night to reduce the noise. It's always muggy anyway.

Inside the building, noise echoes for aeons. Voices can be heard. Dimitri is somewhere here on the warehouse floor, he's talking to the woman. She replies. I keep walking, ascending the stairs into the office space that overlooks the main floor. It's even hotter up here. I sit, looking over the sprawling papers and mess I've created for myself. The fan overhead whirrs, slicing the air in futility.

I don't manage any work. I stare at paper, thinking. I try to get back to my calculations, but everything turns out wrong.

0055

I've wasted so much time already. It's getting harder and harder to remember which day it is. The first letter was send five days ago—thus today, to me, is day six. Day six. Everything else is set in place, I've checked it over a hundred times.

But the timeline—I haven't quite narrowed down how exactly this will run.

I have three choices, essentially. I can go to the lab to ask about progress. The only problem is that Dimitri might have gone back to work. I could head home, take something to try to get more sleep. Or, I could head onward to the casino. I need to check out its state anyway. So I decide on that option, Dimitri won't be pleased if I cut it too close. He'd reprimand me, and I'm not a _child_.

In a leather pack in the corner of the room I've stashed the clothing I'll be adorning for the facade. I pick it up, standing a moment to run my hand through my hair. Air hits me, buffeted irregularly by the fan. The relief is appreciated, but I know if I get thinking I'll just waste more time. I turn off the lights and leave the room, bag in hand. Instead of taking the stairs back down, I cross into the section of the building the scientists stay in. If Dimitri ever sleeps, I suppose it's in one of these rooms.

I can't stand it here. I can't stand the smell or the sound or the air. I hate it.

But I carry on, passing into the central lab. It's no surprise that I was correct in assuming my associate would be here. He's sitting, bent over his desk, the same futile stance I've seen over and over. The woman is sitting on the floor, her back against one of the lab benches. She might be asleep, her head is in her hands. Dimitri rarely lets her leave his side. I'm still trying to decide if he's more obsessed with her or his time machine.

"I figure it's time for me to go to the casino." I say. He looks up slowly, turning his head so he can see me. A lack of rest is evident in his face, as always. "I trust you'll be in your place as well, when the time comes."

He turns his face to the girl momentarily, then back to me. Despite their closeness, there are things we aren't supposed to discuss in front of her. If Dimitri has one redeeming quality, it's that he trusts no one.

I receive a nod and leave. Outside isn't any better. I hate it. All of it. I'm not even sure how I've stood this environment for so long.

The streets are bare at night. Absolutely deserted—even the Family retreat into the shadows. I like the silence. It's easiest to think without anyone around.

The Gilded 7 is something of a home away from home. I'd call it an escape if there was any real escape from this. It's bright, both inside and out. A glow, ethereal in nature, surrounds it and causes light pollution to seep over the rest of the city. Before heading in I check my watch again.

0119

People mill around. Low voices and low smoke. It's better here than at the lab. Much more comfortable. A few Family members patrol nonchalantly—there's rarely any trouble at all. Mark leans across the bar on the far left side. I consider going to speak with him, but then make the decision not to bother.

* * *

**I know this is a bit of a peculiar story, but I appreciate your time for reading it! The plot does get a little more linear, and Clive gets a little bit crazier. So if you think you're up for it, I'd love to have you for the next chapter!**


	2. It Begins

**"Guilt is really the reverse side of the coin of pride. Guilt aims at self-destruction, and pride aims at the destruction of others."**_–Bill Wilson_

For a moment it's okay to smile. The background noise helps, clinking and heavy voices anchor me in the part I need to play. For a moment. It might only be a moment.

Ten years ago—in the flurry of this moment—I had forgotten him. I hadn't liked him when I was eight anyway. He took the attention owed to me. They fawned over him, cooing, laughing, smiling. I was looked upon with contempt. He didn't possess the intelligence I did, he was a thoughtless infant, but somehow he garnered more attention. Even to this day he had that attention. Family. More family than one person deserved.

As far as I knew, they never attempted to reunite us after the accident. They knew the likelihood that I would be adopted was low. But he, being only six months old, would be something of a commodity. Mrs. Dove would have happily taken us both if she had known. Thankfully, that was not the case.

* * *

Having power changes everything. It changes your point of view. It makes you forget the little people and remember yourself. It perverts most—if not all—who stumble upon it. The control, the power that I have found for myself is different. Different in one respect; I have made it for myself. It wasn't by chance or coincidence, I deserve my vengeance because I have worked and worked.

Dimitri is petty. A time machine? The past is gone. While he dwells on what has been, I inject myself into the future—you fools! What could come out of a time machine? I can't even imagine! Dimitri has nothing compared to the brilliance of my plan. I've worked directly under his nose and if he had bothered to look up for a simple second...!

Nothing will change if we are to ask politely. I intend to raze London for the purpose of REBIRTH. No one understands that sacrifices must be made. It is not a choice, it is an obligation to king and country! Selfish notions weigh on everyone. "What if I am hurt?" Anyone who wouldn't make such a minuscule sacrifice for the greater good is WEAK. How many more lives will be lost unjustly is society is allowed to continue on as this? There is a way to regulate it! People have to die—it will happen, for a greater good!

It will happen!

I WILL make it HAPPEN

Not simply for revenge. For hope as well—for the FUTURE. Our corrupt state of politics has come to be worse than disgraceful. The any price paid in lives is worth rectifying this.

* * *

A hundred times over I've lost sleep, debating morality and fighting with myself. I read often to take my mind from it. I've counted the shadows the slatted blinds cast down on the hardwood floor. I've sat for hours with my face pressed to the window, watching both London and the underground reproduction. At first, I thought a change of scenery might ease me into sleep.

I've come to prefer it underground. The constant backlit glow, the warm haze. The house where I stay is continuously air-conditioned. Stepping outside after a long night is like settling into a warm bath. Coming home after a day of work is refreshing, like the salvation a glass of water brings to a parched man...

There's something to be said about being madly driven. Happiness, satisfaction, relief, so far out of reach. Dimitri may be the only one who understands this as I do.

* * *

Disassociation. Playing a role.

This is easy. I'd forgotten that, of all things. I'd forgotten how much easier it is to pretend you are someone carefree, someone with a light state of mind.

This is how I figure him to be, at the very least. It's the vigour, the eagerness for everything and anything. He's a carbon copy of myself at that age. I have a hard time admitting it in my thoughts, but when it comes down to it, it will turn out to be simple.

There's something about playing a part. I receive his adoration.

When I reveal myself I'll anticipate his reaction—his shock and disbelief. Why? I need to make it real. Maybe I can't admit it to myself yet because I don't believe it. But, when I speak it aloud...

The jealousy, the selfishness.

I deserve attention just as much as he does.

If not more.

He has _everything_! Everything in excess!

A waste! A travesty, the whole earth!

None of this sickness should even exist! The disgust, the contempt I feel! The self control... _I_ have self-control.

I want nothing more than to tear Dimitri's foolish attempt at _justice_, or whatever he might claim it to be, apart. A _time machine, _a work of _science fiction _will fix nothing! For a scientist he is a stupid, single-minded man! But I resist. For good reason, as it were. The time will come eventually. Eventually everything will be solved ,perhaps even on parity.

So many understand so little. So many more understand nothing.

I posses self control.

Charisma.

Genius.

Patience.

I don't need the attention. I've come so far on my own, I could continue as such. Alone, which has always been the most effective way of going about business. I don't need what was taken from me—but I do need to right the injustice.

Why has it come to be that he has taken _everything _from me? Everything that was once mine! Our parents—he discarded them and was allowed another pair, to keep, and in addition to this, friends—the one person who protected me when I needed it most!

How could happenstance be so cruel to take everything from me in such a manner? There is nothing worse that could have been done.

I'm trapped in hell. The only worst-case scenario I could have imagined. Hell. This whole city is the hell I've built for myself. Mine. The one thing that belongs solely to me.

They've ventured into my domain. I've rehearsed my part. I've managed to forget Clive. I'm him, now, ten years from the future. Luke from the future.

As long as I'm Luke from the future, it's okay to smile. I do.

It begins.

* * *

**Hullo everyone! I really appreciate all of the reviews, you guys are the best. As Clive has informed us, the next chapter truly kicks things off. Cue the plot! (But don't get too excited, there's more rambling too.)**


	3. Kiddnapping

I arranged the meeting at the casino so I would have the upper hand. This is my home turf, after all. Things go as I have planned, with the exception of my own countenance.

Being human is a fault we all suffer from.

I didn't expect to be believed so openly—so warmly. Their failing trust constitutes a change of plans. I'm going to try to play them each separately, for the most part. I'll set Luke to stay at the facility, to be part of the plan. Layton will be told his apprentice is missing, most likely captured for ransom by his future self. If it comes down to it, I'll use him for ransom myself. Luke is the insurance.

* * *

While the role comes off easily and the plan goes flawlessly, I can't hold off my nerves. The moment I have an inconspicuous chance, I scan the casino for a face I recognise. A prompt I'm doing all right. A familiarity. But it's all familiar,_ my_ home turf. I remind myself of this every so often.

We disappear into a storeroom, away from the lights and noise—what I consider to be a comfort. It is here I earnestly explain the lies that have become familiar to me, watching the expressions of Luke and Layton carefully. I need to be positive I am believed, as this lays the foundation of all that is to come.

* * *

The conversation rings over and over and over in my head as I rush from the arcade. I hear them both discussing serious matters. I hear Luke's enthusiasm about saving this 'future' and Layton's hesitance. They are both worried, but I believe they trust me. Trust is key. Today, day eight, has so far been a success.

I can't tell if I feel jealousy or pity anymore. There's no way to keep it straight. I figure this simply to be beneath me and I carry on.

Our building looms on the bank of the false Thames. I positioned it here for the concealment of my own side project, accessible only by a complex tunnel system hidden within the facility. Dimitri doesn't know of my ulterior motives and use of our resources. I've nearly spelled it out in my carelessness more than once, but he is like a moth to a flame, unwavering from the one track of his mind. There isn't much to worry about, Dimitri is far from a threat.

My mind spins as I trek to the inner laboratory. I need to check the status of my own work. I need to be sure my mind keeps a step ahead of Layton's. I need to hold reason in the forefront of my thoughts. Before I push away the door and am greeted with company again I take a moment. There is so much to keep track of now. While my own London rose around me I simply watched. I had made the plans, yes, but planning is nothing. Doing is the important part. While my own London rose around me I was making more plans—these plans. To be in a real situation is much more work than to plan it.

I don't know if I enjoy the challenge or if I wish for the silence of my own mind.

A familiar scene greets me inside. Dimitri stares down at equations and scribblings. The scientists chatter around what ever mechanism they're trying to use to open the fourth dimension and Celeste watches the experiment from the sideline, fist resting against her lips.

"Dimitri," I say, wasting no time in startling him from his wonderings. "Do you not have anywhere else to be?"

The scientists hush themselves considerably. Dimitri clumsily looks back to them, scanning the line and stopping when he sees Celeste.

"We can speak outside." He then replies, nodding me toward the door.

We step outside—out of earshot.

"I thought you'd appreciate," I start into the issue on my mind before Dimitri has a chance to explain to me, once again, why we should keep these things low key. "Knowing that I've adjusted my plans. Stick to what we've discussed and it won't affect you."

He looks off behind me, down the hallway that leads to the residence. Our voices echo. "What do you mean by _adjustments_?" He sighs. He always looks so tired and uninterested when it comes to my side of the deal.

"It means that, in order to achieve the result we'd like, I've had to recalculate some things. Don't pay it any mind. Wait at the Thames Arms." Growing frustrated, I pull the cap from my head and run a hand through my hair. "Are you going to leave now? I can't estimate when Layton will be where, it would be best if we keep on top of things."

He nods. "Tell Celeste where I've gone, and to find me if she needs anything. And let the scientists know they should continue without me."

"I will."

Back inside, the silence is so predominate that I can hear the hum of the electric lights. If I were to sit down and ignore them, I wonder if they'd stop expecting me to say something and continue on with work. But I don't have time for social experiments, this is a perfect opportunity.

"Dimitri will be out for a while," I inform Celeste firstly. "I don't mean to be rude, but would you mind doing a quick favour in town for me?"

"Certainly not." I wonder the exact nature of her half-hearted smile. "I need to get out of here anyway. Fresh air might be nice."

With my only liability sent away, I have time for my own concerns.

* * *

I watch sixty seconds tick away, and somehow fail to notice the time. My mind is absorbed with a kind of anxiety I'm unused to. Any moment now.

After a dose of bad luck in Chinatown, Layton and Luke are on their way to the clock shop. Their intent is to return to their own city to gather information. All of this has been personally relayed to me by members of the family, and now I am lying in wait.

Today has been full of opportunity. This is my chance. They're secluded and expect nothing. I hadn't planned on moving quite so quickly, but I have never been one for turning down another's misfortune.

This is my chance.

I stroll from the alleyway, smiling as though I've been pleasantly surprised and hurrying as though I've been caught off guard. "Oh, are you heading back to the past?" I ask as I rush to catch up. I hold my cap to keep it in place.

Both of them jump at my sudden appearance, a natural reaction I figure. But I resign myself to acting more casual next time. "Yes," Layton replies as they both settle. "We have some business to attend to, we did leave in a bit of a rush." I nod as he speaks, expressing my understanding and giving a practised signal to the goons in the shadows.

I don't allow myself a glance to Luke. Too suspicious. Instead I open my mouth, preparing a reply and anticipating the chaos to come, both at once. Suddenly, in a flurry of black uniform, the calm breaks. Luke cries out, fighting and yelling. Both Layton and I call for him and make to follow, but a rescue mission is no use. The element of expectation is on my side, I am quicker. I throw myself ahead, purposefully trying to block Layton from interfering. Before anything can be done, the boy is gone and the two of us remain in a futile pursuit.

* * *

**I've come to the conclusion that I can only write this story at ridiculous hours of the night. Thankfully, I'm a raging insomniac. (Yes, I cruelly projected that onto Clive, because suffering alone is no fun.)**

**Anyway, thank you kindly for reading!  
**


	4. 0235

The silence of the night is easy to be lulled into. The shops I pass have been abandoned for the night, and the streets show no evidence of past occupation. The city is mine, but it doesn't always feel as such—the way people romp around you would think each soul has claimed it for their own. Now, though, I can feel the weight of reassurance. This city truly belongs to be.

I'm in Chinatown this morning, and it feels as though I may be the only one. But I know otherwise.

In the first few hours of the day I received word from Bostro. In his opinion, Luke was ready for rescuing. He had calmed down but his mind was still preoccupied with indignance, I had heard. This way, he won't have had time to think the situation through with a clear mind—belief is everything.

There is a warehouse to the right of the pagoda. A winding dirt path leads to its gate. Chinatown was the last development project finished, and this was originally to be the base of the pagoda—it stood marking the spot for the city's most decedent building of all. As the rest of this quarter was being built, it then became useful for storing supplies and housing workers. When the design changed, we decided to leave this building, as it may turn out to be useful, and construct the pagoda nearby. Since then it's been relatively empty. The perfect place to hold a captive.

"Good evening." I pass three goons standing guard of the haphazard building. They nod to me, their faces all hold a peculiar blank look I've come to expect. I continue past the tall warehouse doors, made to allow machinery in and out without consequence, and find myself in front of the worker's entrance. The lightweight alloy that makes up the shell of the building is tarnished in large, unsightly patches.

I check my watch—0235.

I stand still another moment. Then, as though in a dream, I reach up and strike the underside of my forearm against the flaking rust. My sleeve comes away the colour of autumn leaves, torn in one place.

It's hit me now that I need to make this look realistic.

* * *

"Luke!" An echo—my own voice is thrown back at me. "_Luke_!"

From the back left-hand corner of the open room, a reply of coughs and sputters smothers my words.

"Are you there?" I know he is. I know his hands are bound and a red handkerchief covers his mouth, but I am back to playing my predictable, preestablished role. "Luke!" I run towards the sound of his voice. My feet play an even cadence on the concrete floor and dust stirs into my eyes. It's dark, but I know the way.

When I reach him, my eyes have begun to adjust. He tries to keep a brave face—his chin points upward to the corrugated roof though his eyes brim with tears. I don't have time to register what I truly feel before I drop to my knees aside him, tearing a switchblade from my coat pocket.

"Are you alright?" I kneed his back, pushing him forward to slice through the bindings. Then I untie the gag roughly, caring more for speed than delicacy. He cries out as I do so. Then, grabbing his discarded hat and shoulder bag, jumps to his feet. A wave of uneasiness makes itself known in my gut. "What's going on?" he asks the moment he is standing.

"Shh," I look both ways as if cautious. "I admit there's more happening here than I've let on, but I can't explain now. We need to get out of here quickly."

"Where's the professor?" he then spurts, as though it is some type of habit.

I'm taken aback and words fall from my mouth automatically. "I don't know," I say, "hurry!"

* * *

True anxiety sweeps me outside in the air of early morning. It is unlikely Layton is in the vicinity, but not impossible. I keep my head up and eyes ready—I won't let my work be ruined yet. Luke walks beside me, dutifully keeping up with my quick strides. I can feel him watching me. Stress tightens the air around us. He is smart enough to understand that something isn't right.

We descend into the harbour, it's as starless a night as ever. I know the silence is beginning to come to an end. "This doesn't make any sense! What are you doing? Who are you?"

With a small noise of resignation I point him to the structure that encloses the beginning of the tunnel. "As soon as we're inside." And, as we descend into the moist air enclosed beneath the city, I slow and begin to explain. "You don't remember. But I'm sure you're well aware of the failed experiment that happened when you were a baby, yes?"

He takes a minute to put things together in his mind. "Yeah, the explosion?"

"The explosion. You see, my parents were killed in that explosion—"

"Then you're not me! I knew it!" He freezes, a mix between righteousness and utter confusion overcoming him. I gesture that he keep walking, unwilling to pause.

"Luke," I tell him sternly, "you haven't allowed me to finish. _Our _parents were killed in that explosion. You're right, I'm certainly not you, but the façade was necessary. My name is Clive." I stop here. I don't know if it is because I feel as though I've earned the right to leave him hanging, or if it's because I want to hear his own epiphany. But when I am finally drawn to turn back at him, his sheer confusion startles me.

"That doesn't make any sense... my parents are just fine. And you're too old to... they haven't even been married for—" And then he turns and begins to run back toward the entrance.

Hate overcomes me like a flash of hot lightning. "Stop running!" I yell, following him. The sound of our feet splashing overcomes the tunnel. I catch up in no time, fueled by my adrenaline, and snatch the back of the boy's collar, pulling him to the ground. I immediately regret it. "Please, listen to me. You don't know the lengths I've gone to find you, and to rescue you," I sicken myself with the words. "We're brothers, Luke, adopted by separate families after our parents were killed. I wasn't the only one to deceive you."

Now he is listening.

* * *

**It's probably blindingly obvious, but I'm losing some heart here... hopefully I can get it sorted out soon. In the mean time, if you have any suggestions for scenes (no matter how short or long), or any advice as to what I may be doing wrong, I'd really appreciate hearing from you. Hopefully it doesn't end up being too long before I update again!**

**Oh yes, and thank you kindly!**


	5. Separate Streams

"**But grief makes a monster out of us sometimes . . . and sometimes you say and do things to the people you love that you can't forgive yourself for**."  
― Melina Marchetta

Now there are two streams. My biggest worry is to keep them from converging. To keep them both moving ahead, blind to the each other. I've begun Luke's thread—he knows the truth and he seems to believe it. He's confused and frightened but I expected nothing less. I have only one goal for the rest of the day; to begin Layton's thread.

It's irony. One stream is truth, the other deceit.

But there isn't time for musing. After I've settled Luke at the facility and barred him away, I head back out into the morning. The day has begun for the denizens of future London, including Layton. I assure myself it won't be hard to locate him.

* * *

The attention is peculiar.

"We'll get him back. If anything were to happen to him, I'm sure something would happen to me as well. Luke must be fine."

"Yes, he can be very resourceful. I'm not too concerned." But Layton has a deep, pensive look. There is something he's worried about. He stops for a moment, and lays his hand on my shoulder. My stomach lurches. I haven't been touched by another human being in at least a month's time—since my last stay at the clock shop and Cogg's last endearing pat on the back. I can't decide if I appreciate it, or if I'm detested.

"I know we aren't on the best of terms in the future, but you don't think I would put Luke in any danger now, do you?"

"No," I say without thinking. I then rush to rationalise. There wouldn't be a point to making him worry unnecessarily. His determination would work against me, in fact. Things need to unfold at the pace I've set. "Estrangement is one thing, but intention to harm—I don't believe you capable of it, even to this day."

He nods, understanding, and fronts an uneasy smile. We begin on our way again. The air is awkward now, both of us racing our thoughts. I can feel the distrust as if it were the London fog. I need something to prove I'm Luke, to convince him this is true danger. Hershel Layton is incredibly intelligent, but shares the fault we all do; he is as human as I am. I pull upon the research I've done, the research I once figured to be a waste of time, and formulate my story.

"I'm sorry, Professor, but... I have to ask." I steel myself with a sadness that is all too real. "Flora... i-is she still with us?"

He clearly receives the implication. He stops, turns. There is a sadness in his eyes that nearly makes me regret the lie, but it's not as though I have the choice of taking it back. "No... Luke, it can't be true..."

I turn away, genuinely guilty. "It was an accident... it only made you more determined, you felt as though it was solely your fault. I wish there was something I could have done then, instead of waiting until things had become so bad, Professor—"

He lays his arm across my shoulders. It startles me but I try not to let it show. As I stare into the pavement I begin to fathom how wrong the simple act of affection feels—as though it's stolen.

When had attention been what I thought I needed? How long ago?

Then I find myself drawn into an embrace, of all things, and I nearly fall to pieces. He smells exactly as he did those years ago—of clean, nameless spices, the warmth of home. I'm transported back to that moment, the moment I lost any true hope for a future. The moment I had no one but him. "Sometimes... I feel as though I should leave you to your devices, if not offer my assistance. To bring her back..." the words feel right this time. I feel desperation for a girl I've never met, I feel a desire to work with Layton, side by side, on a common goal.

I should have been Luke. I believe this has been my place all along.

* * *

The rest of the day is nerve-wracking for me. I can't seem to find a moment of peace. Though I have put methods in place to keep Luke away from the whole of the staff, there is a fair chance that something could go wrong and because I haven't had the time to fully explain what's going on or why he's there, I am uncomfortable.

Still, Layton and I attempt to get things done. We manage a trip into Chinatown to glean information from the locals. Over lunch we decide Luke is being held in the Pagoda—most likely as bait—and I agree to attempt a reconnaissance mission inside as soon as I have the chance. From there we will formulate our plan to rescue him.

I inform him that I might take a few days. The time has to be right. He informs me that tomorrow he plans on taking a quick trip into the past—his time. I have a feeling he wants to check on the girl.

We part ways in early afternoon following small talk and trivialities—something I've never cared much for. But today they hang with me. After commenting on how strange it was without Luke—the Luke he was used to, at least—he had thanked me for my time.

The nostalgia was brutal, burrowing itself deep into my chest.

"It's been a long time," I had replied. "Seeing you again has been a pleasure."

As much as I hadn't wanted to believe it, by the time I reached the facility I realised I'd told the truth.

* * *

I go back to tell Luke he can't leave the facility for his own safety, insisting that if they were bold enough to take him once, they would do it again. I've also told Dimitri he is there, and will be for a while. It is imperative they stay apart for the fear Luke might recognise him.

And as evening sets in I find myself alone. Not only physically alone, but I _feel_ alone. It's been so long since I've had to deal with so much social interaction. I have no energy left to fight today.

I change, stroll the halls, open all the windows. It's getting dark. For a moment I long to see stars—to see the true sky—but I can't bring myself to think of leaving the house again. It isn't worth it. The greys and blues of replicated cloud cover mock me for my weakness. I mock myself. The fans circulating air begin to shut down, the chugging getting steadily slower.

I'll go to the casino. I'll speak with Mark and watch the nightlife unfold from the safety of shadows. I'll feel superior, in control, above this trite emotion.

No.

I can't bring myself to talk to another living soul today. Instead I decide to shower, hoping it will help relax me and ease some tension. But it only makes things worse so I dress again and move like a ghost toward an unrecognised thought. I go to the attic.

The shoulders of my shirt are soaked from my wet hair. Drips roll down my neck.

I've purposefully avoided the second floor since taking up residence here. They say that things out of sight remain out of mind. This symbolises the part of my memory I've disallowed myself access to. But I'm here now, being drawn to the steamer trunk tucked back against the picture window that frames a city full of deceit.

I have no strength left to fight against myself today.

I crouch and lean my back against the window. I don't want to see the rest of the world. My shadow is long and dips into the cracks of the unfinished wood floor. Everything is covered in dust but I don't bother wiping it away. I secure a hold on the chest and pull it toward me, then I lift the lid.

A distinct smell hits me. Choking lavender, childhood, summer, loud voices carrying up to my bedroom, all held together with an undertone of alcohol that stings my nostrils. Mrs. Dove's favourite perfume.

Why have I done this to myself?

In addition to the glass flask of perfume, I remember what I've kept. A single baby picture that was recovered. Mrs. Dove had been under the impression it was myself, but it's more likely to be of Luke now that I consider. There is no date. The only other object floundering in this coffin is a notebook I kept as a child.

I don't dare touch anything, I'm too afraid it will awaken a ghost.

"Do you see?" I stand, close my eyes and pull my sleeve up over my fist. Then I cover my mouth and nose and kick the trunk. It slams shut as I cry out, an anger reignited in me. But I'm crying. My sleeve distributes a glaze of tears over my cheeks.

* * *

**I figured a longer chapter was in order, as well as a glimpse of the Clive that's hurting so badly. Poor kid. He needs a hug. Anyway, I would really like to thank The Mocking J for suggesting something that you will soon see in upcoming chapters. And, of course, I want to thank you for taking the time to read this story!**


	6. My Mind, Yes, It's Gone

Hello everyone. This is Clive, and I will be narrating this chapter. Yes, yes, fine, I narrate every chapter technically. But this is a different kind of chapter; allow me to explain. Aida (Aka Melissa (aka the lazy writer of this story)) is lazy. In a moment of extreme laziness, she did not think to either a) write a chapter ahead of time or b) prepare for an upcoming anime con ahead of time. Thus, she is stuck without a chapter and unprepared for said anime con. So... she prioritised. Guess who's on the bottom of her list? Us. Yay.

_Clive-and dear readership-you are not on the bottom of my list! The convention starts Friday and if everything isn't __ü_ber organised my head will explode. Please don't take it personally, really!

That will be all from the lazy one, she has been properly restrained now. So, in lieu of not having a chapter, we have... oh dear. It seems we have a little scrapped bit from a chapter previous (I don't know why you'd want that, it was probably scrapped for a reason...). Yes, wonderful, that little scene where Claire hits me for no apparent reason, and a pathetic dramatic reading of a song excerpt. Oh yes, you're certainly in for a treat here. Don't mind me taking a nap.

* * *

(Or not. Apparently I have to explain what's going on. So, lazy here is writing this story in no particular order. But she _is_ trying to upload it chronologically. This was the original scene in which I informed Luke of our kinship. Don't bother asking Aida when it was supposed to take place, she has no idea.)

"Luke, I have something I need to share with you," I tell him as we pass into the city's centre. "Would that be alright Professor? We'll only be a few minutes."

"As long as Luke is fine with it."

Luke bobs his head twice, smiling with that kind of self-importance children have. I tip my head to gesture him away. We begin to walk.

"Where are we going to go?" he asks as we draw further and further from the comfort zone he has placed around the professor. He checks over his shoulder once, but doesn't seem frightened.

"How about the observatory in the park?"

"Alright." He smiles again.

The park is close by. Further than Luke would like, though. We arrive. For a moment, it's okay to smile. Then I slip down to his height, kneeling, and remove the hat from my head.

"I have something to confess, but it has to stay a secret between you and I. Can I trust you?"

I can tell by his eyes that he still believes we are one in the same. "Of course. But you can trust the professor too, I promise! He could help you with anything!"

"Give me your word as a true gentleman. We can't tell him yet, all right? Give me your word."

"I-I won't tell him." I have to keep myself from laughing. His naivety is frighteningly encompassing. "I promise."

"Good, I'd like you to know that I haven't been completely truthful. I'm not who I said I was."

"You're not... what?" his reaction was much calmer than I expected. I had prepared myself to hold him back and forcefully explain. I was sure he would run back to Layton, but I was very pleased with his decision not to. "Who are you!"

"My name is Clive. I know I've been deceitful, and I am terribly sorry Luke. There is much more to this story than can be seen, but I need to try to explain. Let me begin by telling you we're brothers."

"No, that doesn't make any sense!" he recoils now, trying to worm away from me.

"Luke, please, you don't know the lengths I've been to to find you. Please listen. I've been looking and finally—"

"Wait, but what about this London? Are we really in the future, if you're not me? Dr. Schrader... are you younger than me? I get it, you must not exist in my timeline yet!"

"No, I'm from your time as well. We're both out of place here. Your parents haven't been truthful either."

* * *

(Wasn't that precious? Now you've read the same scene twice. You're very lucky. This one is... oh just read it for yourself.)

I see the recoil before I feel the sting of her open palm.

"How dare you speak to me like that!" Celeste fumes.

"Pardon me, then," I touch my cheek. I don't remember the last time I've felt the simplicity of accepting the consequences of my actions.

"I didn't mean to hit you," she lifts her chin, "but you deserved it. I apologise, Clive, but you've always grated on my nerves."

"Likewise." I'm surprised to hear it from myself, but her words weren't meant to wound, so I hadn't taken offense. We're being honest—we're nearly friends considering all the time we've spent cooped up in this hellish facility together.

She knows the connection too. I can sense it in the way she holds herself and turns away, as though we're having this conversation in jest. "You're always running around, like you can't keep your mind on one thing for more than five minutes. It leaves you very irresponsible."

"At least I'm doing something. When you're not shadowing Dimitri, you're following his instructions, sitting around."

* * *

(And see that jem? Aida calls it 'character dynamics'. She lives on that stuff. Me? I think hitting in anger is always wrong, that woman should have counted to ten before slapping me. Oh no, oh no, now I'm being made to recite song lyrics! No! She's putting me in a black turtleneck and skinny jeans and making me sit on a bar stool in front of a coffee house! NO, NO! HELP!)

AN EXCERPT FROM Come In Number 21 BY The Charlatans;

You _were_ no brother of **mine**.  
And,  
I've heard for ages  
that you're in the good books  
You _are no_ brother of **mine**.

And I don't _remember_ the _last_ time I **saw you**

(_you were to off for the time_)

And I'll keep on _coming_ and you keep on _running_  
The future is nothing it's **mine.**

* * *

I need to put a bloody end to this. Oh! Wait, wait-yes! I'm not speaking in parenthesis anymore! That means... the humiliation must be over! I'm terribly sorry for that, Aida seems to believe I need a soundtrack. Certainly I deserve one, but not one made by her. Perhaps someone has a suggestion for a different song for me? Speaking of which, I suppose it's time I began on the important things.

Our bum of an author has plans for future scenes and what she wishes to have happen in short term, but she's having a difficult time pinpointing where the story's really going. This, in turn, is killing her motivation. So, readership, I have one question. Look at me for a moment, yes, I'm right here-and _no, _I am not still wearing skinny jeans, thank you for noticing!-and observe the trajectory of the story; the AU-ness, the crazy and the emotional weakness. Now, where do you see me at the end of it all? Have I changed for the better or the worse, have I helped set things straight or caused more destruction?

If you could reply in a review addressed to myself, I would be most grateful (and if you have anything else to say or ask I would be happy to reply at the end of the true sixth chapter.) If you'd prefer to speak directly to Aida, I would also be willing to pass a message on.

Well now, does that just about cover everything? Hopefully. If not, we're likely to see each other again in about a week's time anyway. Take care until then, and I quite appreciate your putting up with this lazy woman here. And so does she. **  
**


	7. Deceit

_**Recap from last chapter: Clive spends the day with Layton, planning how they will 'save' Luke, and takes a painful visit to his past.**_

* * *

When the clock by my bed finally reads 0700 hours I rise. It's a decent time to start the day. Very normal. Luke will be up.

I refuse to think of yesterday's actions. I refuse to be worthless. Today is prime for safely going about town and for taking Luke out to gain his trust. Layton is gone, returned to his London to check on his daughter. We have free reign of the city. Today will be spent explaining and convincing. I dress casually, the façade unnecessary for this circumstance. Today will be quiet, uneventful. Luke is easy to deal with. I go to meet him.

The same heat chokes me as I step outside. I do my best to shake it off and continue. There is light now, the rhythmic chugging of the fans. Despite what has changed some comforts of normalcy still remain.

When I arrive there is silence. This is unusual, something is always going on here. At two, three o'clock in the morning, something is always happening. I wonder if it's always like this for these mid-morning hours. I wonder if I've ever been here and have simply been ignorant of it. I ascend the stairs to the second floor. This is a rare opportunity to check progress on my own—without Dimitri interrupting. I unlock the heavy door to the inner laboratory.

Luke is sitting inside, stationed over Dimitri's desk. Celeste sits across from him. Between them lay a few small mechanical parts.

"What's going on?" I ask quickly.

Celeste stands. "Keep thinking about it and I'll be back in a minute, Luke." She smiles to him and he nods, but when she steps toward me she is brooding. We both leave the lab, and she pushes door shut. "This is no place for a child." She states bitterly. "Why is he here?"

"It's the safest place for him to stay right now. He's my younger brother."

Her look doesn't soften. "You could certainly do a better job of looking after him. He was crying this morning and you were nowhere to be found."

"I was busy." I run my hand through my hair, unappreciative. "I'll go speak with him now, I intend to take him out for the day. I'll try to spend the night here too but I have a lot to get done."

"Fine." she looks away. I reach for the door. "…No, wait, I have one more thing to ask." She swats my hand, another strange gesture. She seems at the peak of her nervousness. "Luke and yourself, you share the same mother _and_ father? I was just wondering if they were here, somewhere."

"Our parents died when he was an infant. I can't imagine he could remember them, if that's what he was saying."

"No," I wish to know what she meant by this, but it was a waste of time. I have agenda to stick to now. Instead of replying, I reach for the door—successfully this time—and gesture her inside.

Luke smiles when we enter, and proceeds to explain the answer of a puzzle—something to do with the parts—to Celeste. She smiles, obviously pleased with him. A flare of jealousy piques me.

"Would you like to come for breakfast with me?" I ask, pulling his attention back to myself. He is apprehensive. Wide blue eyes offer me a chance to prove my validity. "It would give me a chance to further explain out situation. And staying here too long seems to have a negative effect on people."

Despite my confidence he checks Celeste's expression for reassurance. She wears a vague smile and stares off toward the cluttered lab benches. She is remembering something.

"All right. I'd like to." Luke finally decides. I feign my own grin and Celeste returns to the here and now.

"Have a good morning," she tells us. I hate being stuck in this play. No one except myself realises it's a tragedy of the gravest kind. They will soon.

* * *

We sit across from each other in the quiet café. The air between us is heavy. "I'm sorry these arrangements have to be so harsh. It's dangerous."

He nods, I think he understands. But I find myself at a loss.

"So, after we were separately adopted, I was raised by Constance Dove. She was… very kind." I resign a bit. "When she passed, she left her estate to me. The explosion, it wasn't an accident—well it was I suppose, but a preventable one. Bill Hawks, our current prime minister, was testing dangerous technology in a space rented close to the flat out parents owned. There were several fatalities, but Hawks, who then went on to sell the technology, paid to silence the investigation."

Again, I can't help but wait for a reaction. I need to let the story soak in before I continue. I use the silence of the moment to mull over the muffin before me and take a drink of coffee. Luke's mouth twists.

"I don't get it… still." He looks uncomfortable. "I understand what you mean, but what's going on? W-why did they kidnap me?"

"I can answer that, just... a moment. Continue eating." I stand, taking my cup and jaunting to the window. It's as bright as it will get outside but bright isn't an apt word to describe it. The light is dull, artificial. An unfamiliar woman leaves with a tray of drinks, casting only a passing glance to me. We're alone, the barista aside. I know him, and he knows my business is none of his. I can say whatever I choose, but I need a cover story. I brought them down to help me defeat Future Layton, therefore Future Layton must have been the one who ordered Luke kidnapped. For bait, for the true Layton.

"They must have figured out our plan," I muse aloud. I don't know what I mean but it sounds efficient to fill the empty air.

"Plan?"

"No, I'm just speaking to myself, I'm sorry. I'm trying to unravel this as much as you are." He believes I'm here to stop Layton. He believes-

"But you knew where I was being kept."

"Remember Luke, this city is run by Layton—now twisted from the loss of both his fiancée and daughter. He—"

Luke jumps up this time. "Flora! What, no! What do you mean, Flora's just fine!"

I realise I've made a misstep. Layton still believes me to be Luke, thus, telling him about Flora's death was natural. I would have lived through the event. But Luke knew I wasn't him so… "Not in our time," I try to recover and level out my tone. "There was a bad automobile crash a few years back—a few years into your future, excuse me—Flora was killed. Not only does the professor want to complete Dimitri's project for the sake of the woman he loved, but for Flora's too. He just… couldn't take another loss."

"Stop it!" I hear the table rattle on a loose leg and turn quickly to see Luke facing me, on his feet. "Stop lying! You just keep rambling on like you don't know what you're talking about!"

I clench down my jaw as I realise he's smarter than I've assumed him to be—but I'm not worried. This will be more of a challenge then expected. I appreciate challenges. I step forward, keeping my arms close to my body and trying to seem upset. "London has become a mess." I stand beside him and lay my hand on his shoulder. "In truth, I'm not here because of what Layton has done."

"Then… why_ are_ you here?" There is too much forgiveness in his voice.

"I'm here to fix everything that's gone wrong. I—That's my true plan. I posed as you in the letter because I knew that would bring you to me. I know much about Professor Layton and yourself, and I know the mystery would be far to enticing to pass up. I wanted you to be here, and I need Layton's assistance for my plan to work. But…"

"But what?" I notice now a smudge of something under his chin. Crumbs from breakfast. I have an urge to wipe them away, he hardly looks presentable.

"But yet again everything's fallen to hell. I lost track of Layton while we were chasing your attacker and no one has seen him since. I'm terrified of the worst. And I only wished to protect you from it…"

"The professor, he can do anything you know!" Luke tells me vehemently. But he looks scared, paler somehow.

"I don't doubt it." I reply. Nothing more is said on the topic.

We return to eating, but Luke barely speaks. I know now what I should have done to weaken his spirits earlier, but still I feel guilt for my actions. His hands shake, rattling his utensils around while he attempts to pick at his meal. When I can no longer take it I suggest we head back. The whole way he keeps a tight grip on my hand. His is clammy. I feel as though I'm dragging him the whole way.

* * *

**Aha, hey everyone! Yes, um, I'm sorry, Clive wants to do his bit. I suppose I'll hold off my ramble until the very bottom.**

I_ would like to thank both Elah Audrey and 999 for their reviews in place of the author. And I would like to glare at the rest of you. Boo. Aida shows me her traffic stats. If no one reviews then the lazy author is going to forget this story even exists and not finish it and then I will NEVER get my much anticipated revenge. Is that what you want? Is that _really_ what you want? Aaaanyway, moving on: _

_Dear 999,_

_You are very intuitive. I like it. And I believe Aida will likely use your ideas as the story progresses. If I were to predict your future actions, I would say that you will continue to be a kind person! _

_PS. She did, quite. But I kept her on a short leash. Don't worry._

**Really you two, thanks! I really appreciated the time you took on a chapter that didn't even have content in it. I'll try to keep updating as often as I can, but I'm getting busier as summer ends and inspiration is sporadic. As long as someone's still reading, I'll keep writing until it's done! (Oh! I'm also introducing recaps, just to help keep everything straight. I've never done that before!)  
**


	8. The Pagoda

**Recap: Clive takes Luke to breakfast and tries to articulate what this situation is about. He unintentionally implies something could have happened to Layton and Luke believes him.**

* * *

I pass two days quietly. I converse with Luke and try to keep my mind silent. Then, I decide, I can revisit Layton.

"It's likely we'll go to the pagoda today." I note offhandedly to Dimitri as I prepare myself for the daytrip. We haven't seen much of each other lately due to my time spent with Luke. The two of them have to stay apart.

"Why have you set things so out of order?" he asks. There's a distinct tinge of frustration on his voice. I can feel the tension of his stress.

"Because I've done what I have to do to keep the plan afloat." I lift my bag and settle it over my shoulder as part of the costume. "Just be there if you want this to work. Good day."

I've already given my excuse to Luke. There is nothing left to be done.

* * *

It smells of fresh baking even before I enter the hotel. Becky, the daughter of the establishment's owner, occupies her time with various trivialities. Today I've learned baking is one of them.

"Good morning, Margaret." I remove my cap and she looks up from what seems to be a light sleep.

"Well son, you've gotten an early start on the day." Her heavy eyes blink. From the small dining room off to the left silverware clinks. The French doors are ajar.

"Routine." I reply, looking up to the staircase leading to the rooms. "I've heard you have out-of-town guests staying here. Do you think you could point me in the direction of their room?"

"Certainly." She removes herself from the chair placed behind the counter for convenience and begins to lead me in the direction of my thoughts. She takes slow steps, walking in a careful manner. Up one flight and down a long hall with a green runner the door to their room waits.

* * *

Layton and I pass the concave window of the dining room. Flora sits alone at a table, holding both cup and saucer, watching us desert her. Her eyes are wide, frightened over indignant. The only word apt to describe the girl is innocent beyond measure.

"I don't feel quite settled leaving her alone," I snap to attention and look away.

"As long as she stays inside I'm sure her presence will be overlooked completely."

We enter Chinatown on a tentative note. The society seems far too laid back, the citizens continue unaware of impending danger. As do we, though I know there is no danger. The unease that arrests me is the fear that Dimitri will fall through on his side of the deal. There is no possible excuse for latency now. As time passes, the stakes rise.

We travel upwards, splitting from the ground and rising. The pagoda usually stands empty, I'm not used to seeing it from the inside. It's a monument to dedication, to stealth and prosperity and by some fluke it was left hollow, an ideal place to isolate a captive. But it works in our favour.

On the top floor the last door keeps guard. It's intricate, carved and painted in the kind of frivolity that seems ridiculous to me. But there's nothing to complain about as long as things are going well.

"Do you truly believe that, beyond this final checkpoint lies a future version of myself?" If he is apprehensive, this is the first time I've caught a hint of it.

"Of course." I brush non-existent dust from my tie, and gesture for him to go forward. "I can't imagine anyone else with the intellect to create a working time machine."

He accepts the answer, though he doesn't seem pleased. Pleased isn't a necessity. Together we step ahead, working in sync to push open the heavy brooding doors. Again, a kind of camaraderie strikes me. It feels treacherous.

The room is full to the brim with darkness. It pours out onto us, allowing a bit of room for light at the furthest back, near the lidded windows. A figure stands there, silhouetted. I take the lead.

"Layton?" I call. The space echoes, nearly vacant. There is simply a desk set before us. I'm surprised as I am passed.

"Excuse me, but are you responsible for this time machine, sir?"

I don't allow for him to get far ahead, I need to keep reign of the situation.

"I am indeed. And I suppose this, your arrival here, was driven by intent to stop me?" Dimitri stares us down from behind his desk. He is dressed in a cold version of Layton's suit. His hair is concealed by a tall dark hat. It shades his face—though the room is dim—and exacerbates his wrinkles.

"That wholly depends on what is happening here." We continue ahead. "You certainly dress the part. But I have a difficult time believing I would take part in uprooting London."

I don't experience anxiety, but I am witness to the tension. Dimitri needs this success as much as I do, if he slips he will be ruining things for himself. I can still play off as innocent. The memory of Bill Hawks, bound and gagged, out of sight thanks to a simple trap door eases me. If Dimitri is found out, we still have leverage.

"People change for love, they do ridiculous things." They keep a hard stare, passing a common thought as if it were an inside joke. I don't appreciate information withheld from me.

"There would be no reason for me to abduct Luke, even if what you say is true."

"On the contrary. Who else would draw you here so quickly?" Dimitri leans back, confident in the role. I am still, I anticipate our departure. The sooner we reaffirm Layton's belief in this lie and convince him Luke is elsewhere, the sooner we can leave.

"Just tell us where he is, please." I add, impatient.

"Now that you're finally here, it makes little sense to let you go. Perhaps the two of you could overpower me, but my men are already following your path, they'll arrive any moment now. And I have a guest I'd like you to meet. Just so you know the kind of stakes you're playing for."

He is about to pull out all the stops. The false door swings around, revealing the prime minister. From behind us, I can hear footfalls through the intricate entryway.

Layton has a hard expression as he turns to speak to me. "This man is fraudulent." He says in a calm voice.

I don't panic but spit my words. "How can you be sure of that?" But he's already turned his back to me, already preparing some kind of plan.

"I'll explain once we're out of here."

* * *

**I'm not a big fan of excuses, so I'm not going to make any. Simple truth is that I told people I would post and didn't. And I'm increadibly sorry. This story will be finished, even though it might be slow at times. I'm young, I have a lot of year left! And if you're actually reading this, thank you. You're a very kind person, you should to something to pamper yourself today.**


	9. End of Camaraderie

"It didn't seem as though they had Luke." I hold tightly to the rail, watching the lights of the distant factory. My hands are cold, frozen to the damp metal. Layton turns toward me when I offer no reply. My mind is too full for more information to analyze. He repeats what he has said, assuming I haven't heard.

"Yes..." I resign. I have to plan again, I need time alone. But until our search moves forward I can't excuse myself without suspicion.

"Luke," he uses the name accusingly. "I don't suppose you have any information you're withholding from me." This time he turns around completely and joins me at the rail. I remember Mrs. Dove's smile. I remember a walk with my parents when I held both of their hands. Going to the beach once—only once—and the searing burn the sun gave me.

"I forgot to tell you... I'm useless."

* * *

The stress. The stress.

_Try not to worry yourself sick_. She watched me through the door as long a she could, until she had to latch it. One bright brown eye, reflecting light into the darkened room.

Even after she had shut the door I heard _Come along now, Flora_ from the professor. As they became farther from my room, the noise dispersed.

Stress was going to make me sick now? Perhaps she hadn't considered the extensive list of other factors. Stress. I could handle that much.

They had decided to leave me to look for Luke themselves. They didn't need my whining, my self-pity. But they wouldn't say that out loud, they didn't need me becoming sick with worry.

Despicable.

I have two choices. I can remain, plot, figure, conclude a logical next step for when they return. Or I can leave. I can find myself in an environment I know, one where I am in control.

Luke must be wondering why I've taken so long out today. It's late afternoon. Soon the fans will stop stealing the cold from above for us, it will warm back up then. It must be even colder in the true London. I miss the winter, an excuse to stay inside. To sleep late into the morning.

But there's no use in sleeping late anymore. Night comes when I will it to, whenever the lights are shut down. It happens systematically, first eastward then toward the west. They take a while up there, above the diaphanous filling of mock-cloud. It's probably begun already.

At the very least, I can walk to the nearby arcade. Layton and Flora will be gone long enough for that, certainly. Shipley spends his time there. I can ask about the state of things, I could send eyes after them. I can decide once I'm out of this spiteful room.

The arcade is just up the street, a jaunt more than anything. The city has quieted, not that it's ever very loud. No one is out.

It's the restaurant I'm heading to. Lights line the inside of the path even though the twilight hasn't completely set. The storefront is a few strides away, I'm about half the distance I need to be when voices bounce toward me, careening through the enclosed street.

"It would be best if we wait until nightfall, when the casino is busiest. We'll attract less attention that way. Luke from the future knows his way around."

"Do you really think they're holding Luke there?"

And I can hear the footsteps, steady in my direction. Will I make it to the restaurant? How far is it from the other end of the arcade to the turn? How far are they, judging by their voices, judging by their footfalls, judging by the tall thin shadows, paled from many directions of light, stepping and rising and falling and rising and falling but never seeming to get closer, like—

I turn, sprint, rush back into the open street. I duck down the first alleyway and crouch, and run my hand repeatedly through my hair. I need to get back to the room, they can't know I've left, I have to make it down the street before they exit the arcade. I should have kept running, I might have been able to do it then.

It's too late now, it must be. The decision makes itself for me, and suddenly I find myself jogging down the alley. I'll arc around the hotel, I'll get out.

I'll get out.

* * *

My chest is swollen, I can taste blood on my lip. It smells of hot melted plastic inside, nauseating. Dimitri must be in the laboratory.

I chart my course to avoid him—up the flimsy aluminum stairs to the office that overlooks the floor of the warehouse. I'll check for Luke later. When I'm calm. When the burning anger recedes off of me. When I figure out what to do.

I'm halfway to serenity, halfway up the clanking stairs when I hear the reverberations of a slamming steel door. The voice is already calling to me. I turn, preparing an adequate tongue-lashing.

"I do _not_—"

"Clive, is that you?" she calls over me. Again, another echo. Too many echoes. This day seems to be echoing even, replaying my anger, frustration, hate. A broken record.

"Clive?" Celeste calls again.

"Leave me the bloody hell alone. I don't have time to visit Luke. I have work to do."

She bounds toward the steps, her figure appears half of its regular size from my altitude. There is no question about who is superior. "Dimitri needs to speak with you, he asked if I could send for you as soon as you got back." She's stopped, craning her neck.

"I don't have time for Dimitri." I begin to jog away, noise flares up beneath me. Rubber soles on an alloy.

"It's important!" she yells after me. "And you can't ignore Luke either. You have to be responsible!"

I reach the top of the flight and duck into the humid cabin, away from that inferior woman. Disappointing. Whiny. Clinging. I have my own problems, I need to think.

My hat, my bag—both were left at the hotel. Nothing incriminating but they'll know—he'll know. He was suspicious already and now he'll know.

The closest object to me is a tabletop fan. It cycles harmless air, whirring as it rotates. Harmless. Just harmless. I grip the sturdy old appliance by the base and heave it over my head, ripping the cord from the wall outlet. Then I send it colliding into the nearest wall with all of my strength. Metal clangs, cheap yellowing plastic shatters. It's beautiful cacophony, and then silence. Then a knock on the door which causes me to jump. Dimitri. I let him in, willing to show off my accomplishment. His face reads sour.

"I need you to lure Layton into a trap. I need his memories to assist in—"

I look him over coldly before cutting him off. "I'm not going back, certainly not for you."

"You don't have a choice." Even he knows there's no way of enforcing this. He is frail, tired. He is begging. "I need to save Claire."

"Save Claire by your own means, then!" I step out of the office, he steps back. The height of the small catwalk is significant. I have no intent of allowing this conversation.

"We had made a deal, please, for her." One hand grips the rail behind him. He moves his head although he is about to turn, but changes his mind at the last moment. My eyes dart in the direction his had been headed, Celeste. She waits at the bottom of the stairs, on the bottom step. She is ready to dart upward, her agonised face shows it. HER.

Something is inexplicably funny about this. A humourless laugh cuts from my throat. It makes sense that Celeste would be the one he is working to save, his behavior around her has made it evident. I've hardly been paying attention. I cradle my head, swinging lowly back and forth, in one hand. The smile won't go away.

"Leave me alone." I tell him. I try to make is very clear, I enunciate well. "Leave. Do what you need to. And never ask something of me again."

"Dimitri just stop, please." She reasons from below. "This had gone too far from the very beginning. Please."

But he doesn't say a word in reply. I bring my head back up, watching the foolish mad scientist reason with himself. Still, he ignores Claire. He looks at me.

"Then I'm going to capture Layton myself."

* * *

Alright. Disappointing? Yes. Something, at the very least? Yes. Wunderbar.  
I owe gracious gratuities to both** Anastasia Dove** and** 999 the 9th**. Thank you guys. I really, really appreciate it.


	10. Fraternisation

**Recap: with Clive now discovered by Layton, Dimitri decides on a drastic move to further his progress.**

* * *

The severity of the situation, not unlike the dust stirred up by Dimitri's latest ridiculous explosion, is yet to settle. Things are moving quickly, too quickly. Time is slipping, sometimes it pours, effortlessly, sometimes it drags. Maybe twenty-four hours have passed.

Dimitri is gone, I didn't ask. I haven't seen _Claire_, as it were. And Luke sits in my office, turning gently in an old leather task chair. Sometimes his eyes stop to linger on the smashed fan, but he hasn't asked.

I'm trying to make a decision. I've been falling short, and I have no room to make that mistake here. I can't make any.

"Um, Clive?" The rhythmic squeak of the spinning chair stops. I stretch before looking back over my shoulder. Luke has been patient, and he has enough sense not to ask prying questions now. I reward him with tolerance.

"Yes?" I reply.

The boy curls his wrist and tucks it under his chin, folding both his arms in. This is a nervous gesture, a kind of self-soothing technique children so often develop. "I was just wondering, where do you normally stay? Like, at night, when you're not here."

_Of course._

I stand and run my hand through my hair in an exaggerated gesture, stretching out my back again. I face him and, for a moment, appreciate our familial bond. Luke uncurls his arms and waits for a reply.

"How about I show you?"

* * *

The single house is ducked away on the residential side of the Thames. Squat and lonely, red brick against a bluish fake grass. There are no casual amenities—a box of flowers on the sill, a welcome mat, a wreath, a garden. It looks unoccupied, even.

But this is home.

"It isn't very much." The door isn't locked. I don't recall the last time I was here; inside dust whispers of abandon.

"It doesn't look like you come here very often."

"I've been busy."

He takes off his shoes, pushing them out of the way with one socked foot. Then I receive a puppy-dog look, not happy, not sad, curious. I've never bothered, but today I remove my shoes as well. "I'm sorry it doesn't have the usual amenities. It's fairly... bare."

"That's okay." He's quite comfortable. Chest outward he strides through the foyer, peeking to the right—the kitchenette, the left—the sitting room, as if he is a perspective buyer. "It seems like it would be awfully lonely here."

I pull at my tie. "I find solitude calming."

Satisfied, he turns to face me again. I feel the air tighten, like the whistle before a bomb strikes its target. His pink mouth opens. "I always wanted an elder brother."

"Did you?" I ask, caught wholly by surprise. Truth, a foreign muse, fills me with words. "I did as well... a coincidence, hm?" I try to smile but he is thankfully turned away. It would have looked a mess, me trying to be genuine.

"Professor doesn't believe in coincidences, and neither do I."

"Well, what would you call this then?" While I wait for a reply I saunter to the kitchen to see if there is anything left unclaimed by mould. He'll want to eat at some point.

"It was meant to happen."

A laugh, perhaps left over from my spat with Dimitri, finds its way to my lips. "We were both meant pine for an elder brother?" A _guardian_. "That seems silly. But tell me, why an elder brother? Why not a younger one?"

"Because my father always seemed too busy for me... I wanted an older brother so that I wouldn't have to rely on him so much. Like, if I needed to know something I could ask my brother and not bother my dad. I-if I wanted to run around and play games outside or chess my dad would have to find time for me, and sometimes our plans got cancelled too."

"It seems our cases are equally similar and dissimilar." He has followed my lead and is picking through the kitchen, turning his nose up at the contents of the refrigerator and trifling through the cupboards to find some sort of non-perishable treat. "Being adopted at the age I was, I was always looking for guidance. In the eyes of a child, if you don't belong to a family, you don't belong anywhere."

Momentarily, he stops. "But you had a family, right?"

"Mrs. Dove was an amazing woman." The conversation will go no farther than that, I decide. "Have you found anything remotely eatable?"

"There seems to be… a box of pretzels, I think. And a few cans of soup."

"Do you like pretzels?"

He is fishing something out, half of his small body wedged into the deep cupboard. "Do I ever!" he replies, still struggling.

"How about a snack, then, and a game of chess?"

* * *

**"To take revenge half-heartedly is to court disaster; either condemn or crown your hatred."  
**_-Pierre Corneille_

* * *

I start a fire in the hearth and retrieve the old mismatched chess set Cogg gave me a while after Mrs. Dove's death. We played chess often when she was well enough—every summer night after dining we settled into the sunroom. The windows would all be open to a fragrant breeze, and Cogg would tend the plants as the sun set. It would be only Mrs. Dove and I by mid-game. We seldom broke concentration with words. In the winters we were always sure to play curled by the fireplace, where rich, lengthy shadows would stretch across the shining mahogany board

The knock on the door comes during our second game and startles us both. The sun is long set, everything lies silent at night. There are no knocks, no bangs. No disruptive noises of any kind outside the walls of Dimitri's laboratory.

"Should you answer the door?"

I unfold my legs and rise, taken off guard by the simplest of requests. The chilled metal of the door handle assists in reminding me of how strange my actions are.

No one comes calling. There is no excuse, no exception. This is an unwritten rule. On the other side of the door stands a worst case scenario. I pause, feeling something of a chill, and pull the door inward.

The man beyond is stout and white-coat clad. His brow seems to tremble in the failing light. If I've seen him before, I don't recall. "Dimitri told me..." words come out with spurts of breath. Now I see his chest heaving, trying to catch up after exertion. "Right away, he said... you need to go there."

Skittering feet slip up behind me. The man shifts his weight and leans on the doorframe. I understand the severity and already can feel the frustration.

"Luke, there's an emergency. I'll try not to be long." My shoes wait off to the side. Luke follows when I move to slip them on.

"I'll come," he says dutifully, "I promise I can help." The one thing I can't have.

"It's imperative you stay," I tell him sternly. Disappointment shadows the plains of his face. "It's likely to be dangerous if it couldn't wait until morning."

Finally he nods. The scientist moves out of the doorway and I hurry outside, looking back for a moment. Luke watches as we begin away, framed by the sharp electric lights of the house. I wait, and as soon as I hear the door close I begin.

"What's happened?" Our pace becomes brisk.

"I'm sorry, I don't know much, but Dimitri is in shambles." His breath has caught him now, but still an unsure tremble rocks his words. "He said, if I told you to expect the worst..."

"I had figured as much."

Leading Layton into the heart of our operations had included a calculated risk, but the odds were so far against us. Somehow, I knew this would happen. But I had no drive to stop Dimitri. Secretly, I wanted another encounter with the professor. I had seen it, a flash of it while I waited to make a decision about what would be best for Luke.

My own interception. To stop Dimitri together, Layton and I. then I could allow he and Luke to be reunited, perhaps for only a short time, I would tell them I had separated them for Luke's own safety—he is my brother after all, I care about him.

Then, we would quietly move to our revenge on London.

* * *

**I'm really glad I got this chapter out! I've had a lot of things occupying my mind-good things for once! Mask of Miracle was released in Canada last Sunday and I adore it so far. I've been working on an Eternal Diva cosplay too, and I'm so pleased with the progress! Lastly, November first marks the beginning of National Novel Writing Month, an event I'm insanely excited for!**

**Thank you for reading :D**


	11. The Sinking Ship

**Recap: Clive and Luke bond away from the factory while Dimitri lures in Layton.**

* * *

The blinking red light repeats, repeats, send me in and out of darkness, disorienting me further. It's a short corridor, this I can remember. Metal paneling, cold, ready to break away when the hydraulics are engaged. My noisy footfalls make seem as though I'm not alone. But I am alone.

It's been too long since I have visited my own pet project. I worked, strove, and nearly completed it, only to be distracted again by the state of my other plans. I'm back now, because of the precedence of this situation. Layton will know. If he sees even a glimmer of this technology, he will know.

I find the end of the hallway and stand directly under the emergency light. It bathes the heavy door in cherry red glow, and then everything vanishes. Again—as I pull out the thick steel key and push it deep into the deadbolt. One moment I'm illuminated and the next there is nothing.

I finish with the two locks and head into the cavernous room beyond. Motion detecting lights flash on and blind me for a moment, their light glints off of the mismatched metal. It towers three storeys high. All of this, beneath my Thames. Beneath Dimitri's nose all along and still he hasn't a clue.

I walk around the monstrosity, taking a visual survey. I revel in the hollowness of the room. Just me, I'm the only one allowed here.

It seems secure.

* * *

Satisfied and with my next move on my mind I leave, securing the door again with the tight locks. The red light continues flashing behind me as I ascend the ladder reaching back up into the facility.

He's to be found in the deepest reaches of his test space. The room that is filthy and dank for its lack of windows. His contraption itself hunkers in a corner, smudged black from smoke. Parts are exposed on one side, its panel lying on the floor, covered in soot. Failure.

"I've searched everywhere personally, and sent people over the whole premises twice. Claire can't be found."

"You've called me here for this! Your pet has gone missing, and you expect everyone to halt to help you find her?" the disbelief withholds my fury. I can't believe that Dimitri, as simple minded as he is, would do something to this extent of stupidity.

"No, I assumed you would have taken the message and figured why I had called you. It is—Layton has managed past my guise, he is here, but this is added danger. She has loyalties to him, and a knowledge of the facility."

"You should have tied her up then! You should have done something to prevent this if you knew!" I offer him a wide gesticulation and start to pace. I hate the room, I kick useless gadgets out from underfoot. "How many stupid decisions can one person make?" But we shouldn't be having this argument, we don't have the time.

"I tried to keep her in the dark—I thought it would be enough!"

"You should have been more wary." I cover my eyes, then sweep my hair back out of my face. I realise I must be a mess. "Post men at the warehouse doors, double around the fences. Prevent them from leaving and we'll find them eventually." Then I watch him carefully, reading his expression. Dimitri is lost in thought. "Are you listening?" I snap.

"Yes," he replies. It may be a lie. "I'll start in the east wing, we can sweep through and meet back on the shipping floor."

I nod, satisfied. "Set off the alarm and lock down the building if necessary."

We break apart, sealing the room as we exit. We will eliminate any hiding place to make this quick. I have a feeling neither of us know the action we would take if we were to come upon Layton. I won't plan. I'll do whatever comes to mind in the moment. Dimitri would likely just fail again.

* * *

Dimitri has taken measures, fortunately. The scientists are locked down for now. I pass the rooms they inhabit, the one Luke has stayed in this far. It has always been so loud here, busy beyond belief. Now I can hear the lights hum like cicadas in the summer, and I can hear my footsteps echo. Quickly I realise that if they are nearby I will hear—meaning they will hear me. Stealth is important.

The doors I pass are mostly closed. I check in each anyway. Deserted conference rooms, a small lounge, books—books are everywhere, cluttering everything.

I've reached the furthest side of the west wing when I first hear something. A noise in this silence is unmistakable. Shuffling footsteps bounce through an adjoining hall.

Duck and hide, demand and confront—I have little time to weigh my options. Too little time to make an informed decision. Adrenaline hits me and suddenly I desire confrontation. "Who's there?" I try into the darkness. I've played the right card—the continuing footsteps are unsure, weak in the silence, set against the steadiness of my own voice.

"…Clive?"

I would laugh, but I'm too infuriated.

"Luke, what are you doing here!" I yell, snapping my head from side to side. To my surprise he ducks out from behind me, from the way I've come.

"I-I was worried, I just wanted to make sure everything was fine and maybe help you, but when I got here it was really empty…" he fidgets, pulling down the cuffs of his sweater and biting on his lip.

What am I supposed to do with this—Luke can't be here now. But losing it would do no good. I brush my hand against the side of my pants and turn full circle to face him. "I understand," I manage to reply in a tight voice. "But it's dangerous here right now. I'll take you back outside and I need you to head back to my house, understand?"

He nods deeply. "Yeah. I'm sorry."

"Let's just go." I head his direction and goad him with a hand to his back. But I can hear something out of place. Footsteps again?

I listen inconspicuously, shuffling him along and trying not to let my suspicion show. Something is most certainly wrong. We take a right turn, a longer route, but one I hope will enable us to avoid this new disturbance. The silence is too much. Luke drags his feet. He can hear too.

"What is that?" he asks in a hushed voice.

"Someone who shouldn't be here, that's the danger I was speaking of. You need to get out before they find us." The urgency on my words is no bravado.

"Who is it, what will happen?" he tries to stop but I keep him moving forward, urging him to hurry.

"Look, I don't know, stop asking questions and hurry."

I'm trying to convince myself it's only Dimitri in this wing with us. He's no reason to be here though. I know it's them, it's a simple matter of evacuating Luke before he knows as well.

The voices are growing more comfortable, louder. Two of them. The boy pulls his shoulder out from beneath my hand and turns on the spot.

"I-I think it's the professor," he says, starting into excitement.

"No." I reply simply, grabbing him by the arm and giving it a tug. I proceed to pull him, oddly numb, rather calm.

"Professor, is that you!" he yells.

"Luke?" the voice replies.

"Come _on_," I jostle him again but he resists this time, grabbing my wrist to try to hold still.

"Professor!"

The ship is sinking beneath me but I can't muster the horror I should feel. There is pride in the way. This is my ship; I am the captain, and I will go down with her.

* * *

**Hey there! I'm back from the dark, cavernous reaches of NaNoWriMo. Oh fanfiction, how I missed you! **


	12. Chapter 12

**Recap: Clive's charade is up when he and Luke come face to face with Layton**

* * *

The lights hum, my heart beats, there's a rasp in my breathing and a definitive draft touches the sweat on my forehead. I grab the back of his sweater and pull. They come from nowhere, around the corner in a blur.

"Don't Luke, stop, stop and listen to me." And at first he does. "I know I've held secrets from you, but I'm trying to protect you. I know what's best for you, I only want what's best for you." And as things seem to be proceeding well, I release my hold on him as a sign of trust.

This is volatile. _Trust_ is a wavering flag, pulled in different directions by different winds. There is no surety, there is nothing constant.

There they stand; they're standing there. Professor Layton and Celeste—no, she is Claire. It doesn't matter who she is. Both seem very calm, too calm really. I am not calm. An acidic hate burns through my veins and I know not in which direction it is aimed. If this poison begins to leak from me it won't matter anyway, the result will be felt equally by all.

"I'm your big brother, Luke." Are the soft goading words I choose.

"Are you alright?" shouts the professor in reply.

"Yes," the star-struck boy looks away from me to his mentor. Jealousy washes over me and I try to remain steadfast under its current.

"Come here, Luke, please," Claire adds in her motherly tone. "Clive's been lying to you. Clive—"

"She doesn't know anything about you—you or me. She doesn't know what we've been through, what they did to us, what they owe to us for their stupidity—"

"Why did you say something had happened to the professor?" Luke cuts me off with an indignant glare and tears brimming his eyes. Betrayal. Anger. Confusion.

I figure we feel the same.

"You need to trust me. You need to trust I was only trying to keep you safe…"

My eyes are lowered to the ground but I notice the flit in the side of my vision. I snap to attention. "Don't come any closer."

"That's fine." Layton replies. And he seems sincere about it. Claire is the nervous one, she knows me.

Something touches the back of my neck, like a ghost or a long lost memory. There must be a breeze, from an air-conditioning duct nearby. "You can go with them or you can continue with me, your brother. You should know the only thing I meant was to protect you. Above all, don't you think I would be the one to do so? My loyalty lies with you." The climaxing of dread washes over me, physical in it's potency. I don't feel lost, but I feel as though all is. That isn't a problem. At the darkest of moments the truth will finally be revealed, all will come clean. And my final mission, the one that has plagued me all this time, the burning of hatred and the need of revenge will be realised soon. That is what will come next, regardless of what happens, regardless of him and his fanciful childishness.

The echo of slapping feet calls me from the reverie. My unfocused eyes register what I knew was inevitable. The blue of his sweater trembles away, and quite suddenly I realise it is the colour of the sky. The colour of the Jays I had watched at Mrs. Dove's feeders in the springtime. Again, it was away. Always away and never towards.

My eyes have focused again by the time he reaches Layton. Luke doesn't slow at all, he runs into the professor, who has crouched down to receive him, at full tilt. Claire steps forward as the minutes march on. I counter her movement with one of my own, wary. It is then I realise: I've missed a step.

My heart leaves my chest for a moment. Luke is the insurance... Luke was _supposed_ to be the insurance. But what is a great mind if it can't calibrate to its situation?

Useless.

I put up my hands, palms facing forward, as if there is a pane of glass separating me from the rest of the world. This show of weakness is a ploy, and just moments in I can tell it is working.

"Help me," I say. She can't resist a plea—I know her as well—and so her pace hastens and her sneakers speak against the linoleum. Closer, closer to me until she is just within reach. I snag her arm.

* * *

Sunlight spun through the open window, tossed by the mid-summer breeze and then lowered by the arms of angels so that it made a skewed oblong on the carpet. Clive sat in the centre of the pool of light, drawing the scene—himself included. When there was a knock on the door he jumped to his feet, startled, and quickly flipped over his white piece of paper. He felt he was too old to be drawing angels and didn't want anyone to see the picture.

A policewoman stood in the doorway. Had he told her to come in? Maybe he had told her to come in, and then she had stood in the doorway.

He knew it was something bad then. Right away, there was no mistaking it. Whether it was her expression or Clive's own intuition, he would never know.

"What's your name, love?" she asked when she finally stepped into the room.

"Why are you in the house?" he countered. He didn't appreciate being spoken down to.

"I've come to make sure you were alright. Are you Clive?"

"Yes. Who're you?"

"My name's Officer Poter. I'd like to speak with you a minute, if that's alright. Can we sit down?"

"Sure." He took his drawing and pencil and eraser and moved them from the floor to the coffee table. The couch faced out toward the window, and Clive took his favourite spot against the right arm. Officer Poter sat on the other side.

"I have some bad news for you. Constance Dove passed away this morning, Clive..."

* * *

She comes close and I snag her arm. But it isn't that simple; while I would have been able to overpower Luke easily, Claire seems to have expected something like this. She twists herself so that I'm at the disadvantage and yanks back her limb, turning and tripping away. I refuse to wait and lunge again, yelling. She lunges too, but away, and intentionally falls to the ground.

Our eyes lock for a moment that seems frozen. Already I can hear shuffling from the other end of the hall but I don't look up to see what they're doing. I forfeit, turn and run. Something acidic washes over my brain, breaking once-coherent thoughts to pieces and smoothing their edges, making them hard to grasp. I forget what I am doing, forget where I am going but I am going, and I am doing.

* * *

**I did a lot of cringing reading over this chapter... **


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